


Andromedatober - Memories

by Thirivm



Category: Andromeda Six (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Bonding over alcohol, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26796910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirivm/pseuds/Thirivm
Summary: Mild warning for a lot of cursing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Andromedatober - Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Mild warning for a lot of cursing.

* * *

It’s all been coming back to him slowly over the last few days, and Dymitri would give anything to just make it all _stop_. Fuck, who knew someone could be so nostalgic for amnesia?  
  
He could tolerate the good memories coming back; there weren’t that many and they started hurting if he dwelled on them for too long but they were still memories of love and laughter, of days and moments that made his life just a little more bearable. But then just as quickly they were overshadowed by recollections of countless days of isolation, of hateful and disinterested looks from parents and siblings. He remembers the feeling of being so trapped in his own home, of knowing that most people didn’t even know he existed and those who did only looked at him with cold, calculating eyes as they wondered if they could use him to some advantage.  
  
That's all he ever was to anybody. A political tool. A piece of meat to warm a bed. An idiot so desperate to feel loved and needed that he showed his only friend how to kill everyone around him.   
  
Dymitri squeezes his eyes shut as he takes another gulp from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. It’s half-gone, he probably should’ve stopped drinking a while ago, but the drink makes the thoughts float away for a few minutes at least. They’ll come back, apparently they always do, but he still has these short, blissful moments of quiet...  
  
“What’re you doing creeping around out here this late?”

The sudden sound of Damon's voice almost makes him jump and Dymitri huffs under his breath. He hated how easily that shadowy bastard could sneak up behind him.  
  
“Could ask you the same thing.” Dymitri replies after a few beats of silence but for once there’s no heat behind his tone when he speaks to him. He doesn’t want to argue with Damon right now or push his buttons like he usually does. No, he just wants to sit here on the bridge of the ship, drink his whiskey, and try to forget.  
  
“Just making the rounds, stowaway.” The nickname doesn’t grate on Dymitri like it usually does, and that catches him off guard. Maybe he was just growing used to it, or maybe he was even becoming fond of it. You gave people you cared about nicknames, right? Not many people had ever given him one before, other than Nerissa and Vexx, and those were- _Fuck_. He was supposed to be chasing those thoughts away, not lingering on them. “So, where’d you get that?”  
  
Dymitri looks up at the question, not at all surprised to see Damon gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey in his hands with an interested glint in his eyes.  
  
“Swiped it from Oppo’s bar before we left.” he replies, gaze lowering as he swirls the bottle around in his hand for a moment before looking over towards Damon again. He raises a brow when their eyes meet, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Why? Gonna go back and tell the lizard on me?”  
  
“Not if you share.” Damon replies, smirking as he waltzes over to sit in the other empty seat beside him. He’s been around the assassin enough now to guess that the threat is an empty one but Dymitri passes the bottle over anyway, watching as Damon takes a slow sip. He huffs after swallowing it down, nose wrinkling a little. “Couldn’t have gotten something a little stronger?”  
  
“Hey, I had two seconds to grab, it was this or nothing.” Dymitri shrugs, accepting the bottle back and taking a long swig of his own. Damon’s right – it’s not very strong but the bitterness helps to keep his mind off of other things. Not like he was drinking to have a good time. “Still better than that shrimp shit you drink anyway.”  
  
“It’s _krill_ ,” Damon corrects him for what is probably the third time since their trip to the Arc. His tone is sharp but when Dymitri glances over at Damon he’s smirking back at him. “And it’s delicious. Not my fault you’re too used to fruity little cocktails, your Highness.”  
  
The remark falls just short of humorous and Dymitri feels his playful smile fade away. He sighs, brushing a hand over his short, buzzed hair as the memories he’s been trying to push away all night come rushing back. He doesn’t want to think about them any more than he already has and, feeling Damon’s eyes still on him, Dymitri raises the bottle to his lips again. He throws his head back as he gulps it down, relishing the burn in his throat and the growing fuzziness in his mind, and almost splutters when he feels the bottle suddenly being tugged from his hand.  
  
“Thought we were sharing.” Damon says, ignoring the glare that Dymitri is giving him as he takes a generous sip. “Couple weeks with this lot and you’ve already forgotten your manners.”  
  
“Asshole...” Dymitri mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He watches from the corner of his eye as Damon takes another quick sip of the whiskey but then he doesn’t hand it back, not even when Dymitri pointedly reaches for it. “Stealing my damn drink now?”  
  
“It won’t fix anything.” Damon says, both his words and cool tone catching Dymitri off guard. The assassin looks at him, meeting his glare evenly with one of his own. “You can keep drinking and wallowing if you want but it won’t help whatever’s going on in that head of yours right now.”

“Hey, won’t know until I try.” Dymitri replies sharply, reaching for the bottle again and gritting his teeth when Damon just lifts his arm to hold the bottle out of his reach. “Do you want me to kick your ass, Reznor?”

“I’d love to see you try.” Damon flashes him a sharp grin before his expression sobers up just as quickly. “This your new plan then? Just sit out here, get shit-faced, and pretend none of this is happening?”

“The fuck else am I supposed to do?” Dymitri reaches for the bottle again, growling when Damon once again holds it just out of his reach. “Damon, I swear-!”

“It hurts.” Damon interrupts, and Dymitri trails off mid-sentence, frowning at the sudden intensity in the assassin’s eyes. “Everything sucks and you want it all to go away, I get that, but this?” Damon shakes the bottle, the remnants of the drink sloshing around inside. “This won’t fix it. It just numbs it for a while and makes it that much worse when it wears off.”

“Maybe that’s all I want!” Dymitri replies, sinking back into his seat and feeling anger flare in his chest at the way his voice cracks just a little. “I know it’s not gonna fix shit but… The memories, I need 'em to go away, just for a while...” 

The silence between them is tense, broken only by the familiar sounds of the ship and machinery humming around them. Damon says nothing, expression unreadable, but then he finally holds the bottle out towards Dymitri with a soft sigh.

Dymitri snatches the whiskey back, looking at Damon warily before raising the bottle to his lips again but then he stops just before the bitter liquid can touch his tongue. He can feel Damon still watching him, feels the slight tremble go through his hand, and Dymitri lowers the bottle with an angry huff. 

It takes everything he has not to fling the bottle across the room - or more ideally right at Reznor’s face - but before he can seriously consider doing so Damon reaches over, plucking the bottle from his hands again. Dymitri doesn’t try to stop him, though he does wince a little at the sound of the bottle being tossed into a nearby trash chute.

“Fuck you, Damon..” Dymitri mutters, his voice so soft and hoarse compared to a moment ago, and he stares blankly at the ground in front of him as Damon gets to his feet, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Sober up and I just might think about it.” Damon winks but his voice lacks its usual teasing. Dymitri glances up, a little taken aback by the soft expression on the assassin’s face. “You should head to bed before Ryona senses your distress. Trust me, you don’t want the doc to catch you like this.”

“I’ll keep that in mind…” Dymitri replies but then gets to his feet. He sways on the spot for a moment - he had just downed half a bottle of whiskey after all - but thankfully he manages to keep himself upright. Falling flat on his face in front of Reznor sounded like a suitable ending to all this, but he’d rather avoid that particular humiliation for as long as he could. He walks away from the bridge, intending to return to his room without another word, but then pauses in the doorway to glance back over his shoulder. "G'night, Damon."

"Sleep tight, stowaway." Damon calls back from the shadows, and if Dymitri didn't know any better he'd almost think there'd been some fondness to that tone.

\---

When Dymitri awakes the next morning, mouth dry and head pounding, he doesn't expect to see the bottle of water and pair of painkillers on the shelf beside his door. His first thought is Ryona but the Tilaari doctor would've definitely woken him to make sure he took the medicine. So then it was probably...

He gets to his feet slowly, trying in vain to will the stiffness and aches in his body away, but as he downs the painkiller a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Maybe Damon wasn't so bad after all. 

So long as he wasn't trying to take his whiskey.

* * *


End file.
